I made it through my exam alive yesterday, and I thought what better way to celebrate than with a nice dose of angst for you all? :P
A red balloon skittering across a busy fairground. A milkman whistling 'I heard a song in a taxi' on his way down a sunlit country lane. Toffee gluing teeth tightly together while fireworks burst overhead in a dozen splendid colours. The rich, warm smell of coffee and... bleach? She opened her eyes and the images faded, but the sharp scent of bleach remained. The girl on the bed blinked and looked around, trying to get here bearings.
There was a woman standing over her, holding her wrist in one hand and looking at the watch pinned to the front of her dress with the other. She tried to speak but discovered that her throat was so dry and sore the best she could manage was the kind of feeble croak one might expect from an extremely aged frog. It was enough to get the woman's attention however and she turned to pour some water from a jug by the bed.
'Here pet, take a few sips of this, you'll feel better'.
She did as she was told, although was embarrassed to find some of the water dribbled out the glass and down her chin, as though she were a child just learning to do without a bottle. But the liquid eased her throat, and while her voice was as hoarse as if she had spent a good part of the day screaming at the top of her lungs, she was able to form words.
'Thank you for your help. Can you tell me where I am? Who are you? What happened to me?'
'You're in the hospital, there was an accident... But... don't you know me Delia? It's Joan. We've worked together for years. You have to know me! You can't have just...forgotten'.
Her voice sounded panicked, slipping into a regional accent that she couldn't work out as the woman became more and more upset.
'Oh... I'm sorry, I'm afraid I have. I... I don't remember much of anything right now. Delia. Is that me? I can't... I'm sorry, my head hurts. I'm sure I'll remember in a minute'.
She wasn't sure at all, really, but the woman... Joan... looked so afflicted by the news that she wanted to reassure her. And it did feel as though if only her head would clear and stop aching she would be able to think, and then maybe she really would remember.
'I'm going to get the doctor'.
Joan looked stricken as she almost ran from the room, slamming the door with such a force that it made Delia wince.
Her thoughts felt slow and sluggish, like treacle trying to ooze out of a tilted tin. Already, she realised, the details of what had just happened were slipping from her as if she had been dreaming it. No, no, no, she didn't want to forget. The scant information she had just been given was all she knew of her identity. She was sure she'd remember just as soon as her head stopped hurting but right now she wanted to hold onto what facts she had.
Her name was Delia. There had been... an accident? Or was it illness? Something was wrong with her anyway, that's why she was in a bed. She was in the hospital. Or... was she at home? She looked down at herself and saw tubes, a bed with railings and a loose white gown. Hospital then. The woman who had spoken to her must be a nurse. That made sense. What had her name been?
But all she remembered was her appalled expression as she hurried from the room. What had she said to scare the nurse so badly? She sighed. It was no good. If only the feeling of pressure in her head would ease she might be able to think, but as it was the memory was running away like water trickling through her fingers no matter how tightly she tried to cup it.
What did she know for sure? Her name was Delia. She was in bed, in a green hospital room. There had been a nurse here, but she'd gone now. Her name was Delia.
Delia. Delia. Delia.
... ... ... ...
'The fact of the matter is that once Delia's physical condition improves, if we can't find anyone to claim her and her memory does not return, she will have to be transferred to a psychiatric ward'.
Patsy had been in the Matron's office for almost half an hour now. At first she had simply been asking Patsy for information about Delia's family – did she have any siblings or cousins? Grandparents even? But on this Patsy had been no help. Since her grandmother died in their second year of training Delia rarely mentioned her family. Her parents had emigrated to Canada but Patsy didn't know where specifically, and if the reports from Mr and Mrs Busby's old pastor were anything to go by no one else seemed to know either. Until a forwarding address could be found there was little that could be done to get in touch with them. The only one that might have known their whereabouts was Delia herself, and she was hardly in a state to divulge the information. Eventually Matron had seemed to realise the futility of this line of questioning and had finally deigned to tell Patsy the details of Delia's condition.
The majority of her wounds were fairly superficial – she had several bruises and abrasions from the road, particularly along her left side down as far as her hip where she had skidded across the tarmac, a couple of fractured ribs and a sprained ankle. All these would heal in time without much risk of complication and with luck, very little permanent scarring. No vital organs in the abdominal area seemed to have been injured and Delia did not appear to be suffering any internal bleeding. The main concern was her head injury. The fall had caused severe concussion and since being brought in Delia had already suffered three seizures. More worrying still however was the apparent loss of both short and long term memory exhibited since she had regained consciousness.
The words had felt like ice water seeping into Patsy's veins as the implications of what she was being told hit her. Delia would have no idea who she was. She had been listening to Matron in silence, afraid that speaking would reveal the depths of her feelings, but when Matron said that Delia would be sent to the psychiatric ward she couldn't hold back.
'Psych? No! You can't send her there. It wouldn't help her get better. She... she doesn't belong there. I've read about amnesia. A little anyway, in journals. They all agree that recall can be triggered by familiarity. I can look after her once she's discharged from the hospital. Please Matron. It's not as though she doesn't have a home to come back to and I'm sure she'd be more comfortable out of a hospital environment, especially if her memory is as you say'.
Matron sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose wearily. She knew Nurse Busby and liked her well – she was an excellent nurse and a sweet girl, and it was hitting everyone hard to see her in this state. Nurse Harris, who had been the one to discover the girl's condition, had been almost hysterical and had had to be excused from the rest of her shift. Even forewarned half the girls she sent in to tend to Miss Busby came out misty eyed and pale. But whatever their own feelings on the matter they all had to look to the practicalities, and whether or not she wanted to send Delia to the psychiatric ward, her choices were currently rather limited.
'You are to be commended on your compassion Nurse Mount, and in general I would agree that amnesia patients are best off in their own home. But in this case... well, have you really considered the implications? Certainly there is room to hope that when the swelling putting pressure on Delia's brain goes down her condition may improve, but with trauma like this there is no guarantee of that. Can you really commit yourself to looking after Delia if she continues to need round the clock care? She may never recover her memories and her seizures may continue indefinitely. They may even get worse. I'm afraid we just don't know when it comes to cases like this. I know you are concerned for your friend, but you must consider whether your proposal is really in her best interests'.
Matron observed the young woman sitting across the desk from her as she spoke. She knew Patsy well as Nurse Mount and it had been her unflappable competence on the wards as well as her close friendship with Delia Busby that had convinced her to break with tradition and speak to her about the case, but even now she wasn't entirely certain it had been the right decision. It was a lot to ask of someone so young and Nurse Mount was looking very pale, although her posture spoke of confidence and control rather than the distraught impulsiveness she had so often seen in the relatives of critically ill patients. The truth was that she wanted to be convinced, but even so she couldn't say yes without making absolutely sure that Patsy could handle this. If it went wrong there could be a great deal of trouble for the hospital, especially if the parents reappeared from whatever corner of the world they had retreated to and started making a fuss.
'I know it might be difficult, especially if her memory doesn't improve, but I am a qualified nurse with experience in trauma and psychiatric nursing. I can handle seizures and administer any medication Delia might need, and I know how to deal with patients in a delicate mental state. I'm not some hysterical friend making rash promises, I truly can do this Matron'.
'I don't doubt your competence as a nurse, I am well aware of your skill and professionalism. Your days here aren't so far behind you that I have forgotten the time you spent on my ward, Nurse Mount. But I'm still not sure your proposal is a practical one. You are currently working as a midwife at Nonnatus House, are you not?'
'I am'.
'Well then, how do you propose to juggle your work load there with caring for an amnesia patient who needs constant supervision?'
Patsy swallowed. She had already thought of the answer to this question, and although she was loath to fall back on her father's money after declaring her independence so many years earlier, some things were more important than pride.
'I would take a leave of absence from Nonnatus House. My family has sufficient private funds to allow me to take time away from work to care for Delia for as long as required'.
Seeing that Matron still seemed unconvinced, Patsy spoke the words she had not wanted to say aloud. She knew she would stay with Delia as long as it took, but without being able to explain why, she had to tell Matron something that would convince her that she was keeping a level head over this, and that meant acting as though her caring for Delia was a short term solution.
'No doubt when an address can be found for them Delia's parents will return from Canada and would be able to care for her themselves. And if not... the option of moving to a psychiatric ward at a later date would still be there. It seems to me there would be no harm in trying to care for Delia at home first, especially as her amnesia may be temporary. If it is not, being at home will still give her the greatest chance to develop an independent life with what she has. If she stays in hospital that won't happen and all she will ever be is an amnesia patient. Of course, if it becomes clear that Delia's need for full time care is permanent, an alternative long term solution could be sought. At least this way Delia has a chance of regaining a normal life, and I have little doubt that her parents would be happier knowing that Delia is somewhere homely and safe, with friends rather than psychiatric patients and unfamiliar doctors and nurses'.
Matron seemed to consider this for a long time, regarding Patsy over the wire rims of her spectacles. Patsy tried to sit up straight and exude an aura of confidence, though she had to clasp her hands in her lap to keep them from shaking. It felt as though she were being interviewed for a job she wanted more than she had ever wanted anything before, and she had no idea whether or not she would be found suitable for the post. Eventually though Matron gave a small, stiff nod.
'Very well. We will try doing as you say, but I will arrange for a district nurse to look in on you daily and report back. If they think you aren't coping, or that it would be in Delia's best interests to return to hospital for any reason, we will have to reconsider. I'm sure you appreciate that this is a highly unorthodox situation Nurse Mount, and if it wasn't for the fact that you have both been nurses at this very hospital I'm sure it would not be allowed. But I agree that in the absence of any immediate family coming forth to claim her, Nurse Busby would fair best in her own home'.
Patsy breathed a long sigh of relief at the pronouncement, though she tried hard not to let it show too plainly on her face. It wouldn't do to let Matron see how much this meant to her.
'Thank you. I appreciate that'.
'Of course you understand that it will be a few days before Delia is in any state to leave the hospital. Her concussion was severe and she needs complete rest and observation, particularly with the seizures'.
'Of course. But I was hoping... might I be allowed to see her? I know I'm not strictly speaking a family member, but given the arrangement we have come to?'
'Yes Nurse Mount, I think in the circumstances that rule can be relaxed as well. For the time being we will consider you to be Nurse Busby's sister and will treat you as such until a blood relative can be found. I will take you up to the ward now if you wish, but I'm sure I don't need to tell you that Delia will not be exactly as you last saw her. It may be distressing'.
'I know, but I do need to see her. Besides, if I'm to care for her I need to familiarise myself with her condition'.
'Very well. Follow me then nurse'.
Patsy stood up and followed the Matron out of the small, sparsely furnished office towards a private room off the main ward. There was no sound except the smart clip clip of Matron's shoes on the polished floor and, somewhere in the distance, on another ward perhaps, the sound of a very young child crying. It was a lonely, desolate sound that made Patsy's eyes prickle in sympathy. For a moment she wished she were a small girl again herself and could turn to someone else to make everything alright. But of course in reality she had had to rely on herself from the age of ten, it was all she knew. Deep down she acknowledged that even had there been someone else to turn to, she would never have willingly given this task to anyone else, no matter how difficult it might prove to be. Delia needed her. Patsy took a deep breath as they reached the door to Delia's room, squared her shoulders and, murmuring a word of thanks to Matron, turned the handle.